Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (8 page)

The next
morning after
breakfast, my phone rang while I was
doing a puzzle on the floor with Julie. The display told me it was my editor
Jens-Ole. I got up and walked out of the room before I picked it up.

"Rebekka," I said.

"I know you're on vacation, I know you need
time with your family to get your marriage fixed and all that. Believe me, I
know that and I have tried everything to find another solution, but the thing
is … we need you," Jens-Ole said. "Desperately."

I would be lying if I said there wasn't a part
of me that was happy to hear I was needed. I loved my work and I loved that I
was so good at it.

"You're still in Brabrand, right?"

"Yes."

"You've heard about the guy who had his
kidney stolen, right?" Jens-Ole asked.

"Sure did."

"Did you hear about the second guy?"

My heart dropped. There had been a second one?
"No. I have been trying to stay out of it … it doesn't matter. What
happened?"

"Same story. Guy at a hotel is attacked at
night, cleaning lady finds him next morning, dead in the bathtub, missing his
liver. It's gone, someone had removed it while he was sedated, according to the
police."

"But he was killed? The first guy survived,
right?"

"Yeah they only took his kidney. You have
two of those, but only one liver. In both cases, they had their bodies covered
in ice cubes. Police say they are certain they're looking for the same guy.
Someone who knows a lot about surgery. They say the cuts are very
professionally made with a scalpel and all the right equipment and all."

"Creepy. So the person they're looking for
might be a doctor?" I asked. There was something about this story that
gave me the chills. The thought of people being sedated and having their organs
stolen without their knowledge freaked me out.

"Maybe. Someone with expertise in the area
at least."

"So what do you want from me?" I
asked.

"The second case was close to where you're
at too. It was in Hasle. That's only about ten minutes by car from where you're
staying, I think. Hotel Bellevue."

"So what is it you want me to do?" I
asked, thinking I had no idea how to tell Peter about this without him getting
angry. He never understood having a career, providing for your family. He came
from a very rich background and always had the money he needed for anything. He
never had to actually work for a living. Not that I ever envied him his
childhood and upbringing that, for the most part, took place at a boarding
school away from his parents. But still. He never wanted to make a career for
himself since there was no reason to do so. I had to do my best, always, or I
was out. A journalist was never better than her last story. It was as simple as
that.

"I want you to go to Hasle and make a
report from there. Talk to the people working there, preferably the cleaning
lady who found the body. Talk to people around, in the streets or whatever and
find out if they're scared. Try to figure out what the police are doing about
this. Could it be a gang of some sort? Eastern Europeans stealing our organs at
night and selling them on the black Russian market? What? What are we talking
about here? Could they do this anywhere? In people's private homes? We have had
many cases of home invasions where Eastern Europeans break into houses in the
middle of the night and beat people up with baseball bats, killing people for
only a couple of hundred kroner. Are they going to take their organs next? Is
it a new trend in organized crime that we should be afraid of? What are they
doing about it? I don't want to wake up one morning having something missing
from inside of me."

"Okay, okay. I get the picture." I
said.

"That's my girl. We need this. We're the
only newspaper not writing anything about this story. It's embarrassing. The
bosses are mad at me. They want you on this story. You're our best man, or
woman. If you do it, I'll even throw in an extra week of vacation. Take any
week off this fall. Be with your family then. I promise I won't disturb you
this time. I'll throw away your number. Just give me my story."

"Got it," I said.

"Great. By the way I have informed Sune and
he's on his way. He'll meet you in Hasle."

Thomas De
Quincey was
typing on his laptop with a grin. Bill
Durgin had struck again and the story was all over the media now. And even
better, this time Bill had actually killed his victim, just like Thomas had
wanted him to. Removing an organ and letting the victim survive was fun, yes,
but very risky. Bill had wanted to just remove a part of the liver, since the
liver then would regenerate itself as it did in people donating parts of their
liver to a family member who needed a new liver. But Thomas had put his foot
down. He wanted Bill to move on, to make his first kill. And he had succeeded.

I removed it all as you told
me to. He died slowly,
Bill wrote.

Excellent. You did well
,
Thomas wrote.
How did it feel?

Better than expected. I think
I actually enjoyed it a little. He deserved what he got, the bastard.

Wonderful. Now you have taken
it to the next step. The first kill is always the hardest, but also the
sweetest. From now on, you'll have no trouble killing again,
Thomas
wrote.
What about your contribution? Have
you given it more thought?

I have and he's yours,
Bill wrote without hesitating. It pleased Thomas immensely. There was nothing
better than obedient followers.

Oh how pleased I am to hear
that. There is nothing like the first kill that should be savored and remembered.
I'll make sure to immortalize what you have done. Your masterpiece is safe with
me.

What do I need to do?
Bill
wrote.

Nothing. I'll send my guy to
pick him up. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything. Just you worry about
your next move. You need to strike while the iron is hot. The entire country is
looking at you and focusing on your art right now. This is your moment … your
fifteen minutes of fame. Enjoy it.

I will.

Thomas logged off, then closed the lid of the
computer and clapped his hands with joy. He looked at himself in the mirror
hanging on the wall.

"You're a genius, Thomas."

He smiled at his own reflection. This last
couple of months had been so exciting, he could barely keep it inside. He
wanted to scream and yell and laugh. He could hardly believe his life’s work
was almost done. His masterpiece was almost ready for the world to see. It was
a dream that came true. The work of a genius. That's what they would all say,
wasn't it? He was going to write himself into the history books. Future generations
would hear about him in school and his name would be whispered in the darkness
of the night when children told their scary stories. He would be a myth, a
legend. And people would fear his name like they feared Jack the Ripper or Ted
Bundy. Oh, but he would be so much bigger than them.

"But it's not time to celebrate yet,"
he told his own reflection. "Your work is not done." Thomas shook his
head.

No, he was still missing the most vital part of
all. The last and most important part. The part he desired the most for
personal reasons. The final revenge over the woman who broke his heart. No not
just broke it, tore it apart, ripped it from his chest and stepped on it
afterwards.

His last and final piece was the body of Rebekka
Franck.

Thomas smiled widely again. This time he was
going to succeed. This time there was nothing in the way. Using Allan Witt had
been a bad idea, and Thomas was actually happy that it hadn't succeeded. It was
unfulfilling to have someone else do it for you, when it's your revenge, when
it's you who want to do it.

Thomas gritted his teeth thinking about her. He
clenched his fist and hit it into the wall behind the mirror. Then he laughed
manically. He turned and grabbed the camera on the counter. He had it all
planned out. With the camera, he was going to document his actions. He was
going to take a picture every minute until she drew her last and final breath.
Documenting the pain he inflicted upon her, documenting the distress a person
experienced right before she died. It had never been done before. It was
perfect. The work of a true artist, they would say.

An artist willing to go all the way for his art.

I sat with the
phone
in my hand for a little while after hanging up, not knowing how to handle this.
Then I decided to just do it. I walked back in with Julie.

"Work?" she asked.

I smiled. "You know me a little too well,
don't you?"

She shrugged. "It's okay, Mommy. I know you
love your job."

I stared at my daughter. My beautiful and
suddenly so very grown-up daughter. I kneeled next to her and hugged her.
"My boss is giving me another week off instead of the days I'm spending on
this, and I thought that maybe I'll take it when you have your fall break in
October. Maybe we could go somewhere far away where they can't get a hold of me
and make me work. Maybe we'll go to Spain or France? What do you say?"

Julie looked up at me. "That sounds really
nice, Mommy. I'd like that. Maybe Tobias could come as well?"

I froze. "Tobias?"

"Yes. I really miss him. Don't you miss Sune?"

Children and their bluntness. Just bursting it
all out without thinking. Just saying what everybody else is thinking or won't
admit they're thinking. I nodded. "Yes, sweetie. I miss him."

"Good," she said.

"I thought you liked that mommy was back
with daddy?" I asked.

"I do. I love it Mommy. But I liked Sune
too. And I looove Tobias. You know that. We're going to get married. We already
planned that."

"Wow that was early."

"Yeah, but first I have to finish college.
Tobias wants to be an astronaut, so he needs to get a space education first and
that takes a long time, I think. He won't be home much since he'll be flying
out in space a lot, but I can take care of the kids. We might fight a little
over him always being away, but we'll make it work. I'll have my clinic at my
house so I can be home a lot."

"Your clinic? What kind of clinic is
that?" I asked trying hard not to laugh.

"My dog hospital, of course. I'll be a vet.
But only for dogs. I don't like cats. Maybe I'll treat a tiger if they bring
him to me. But only baby tigers since they're not scary. They are really
cute."

I chuckled. "Boy you have you entire life
all figured out, don't you?"

"Yes, Mommy." Julie looked deep into
my eyes. "You should figure your life out too."

I looked at her, astonished and slightly
surprised as well.
From children and drunk
people you hear the truth,
was a Danish saying. Was that what this
was? Her speaking the truth I refused to admit to myself?

The door opened and Peter entered. "What do
you guys say we have some lunch?" he asked. I looked at him. He froze when
our eyes met.

"Mommy's going to work," Julie said.

Peter sighed. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. They just called. They
need me to do the story about the kidney-guy. There has been another case in
Hasle not far from here. Also in a hotel. They want me to cover the story. I'm
sorry. They gave me another week off this fall instead. I thought maybe we
could …"

Peter lifted his hand and stopped me. "And
I guess that photographer boyfriend of yours is going too, am I right?"

"Peter. Don't start … This is my job. This
is what it is like to be a journalist. You have to be available when they need
you, when a story breaks. That's just the way it is. If they can't count on me,
they'll let me go. I'll never get the career I want."

"Then don't," Peter said.

"I can't just forget all about my career. I
have bills to pay, I have a daughter to provide for."

"Not if you're with me. I can provide for
the both of you, you know that as well as I do."

"You know that is not what I want."

"What? To be a family?"

"Come on. That's not fair."

"Why not? If you gave up that so-called
career of yours, you could stay home and be a mother and a wife and I would
support all of us. We could travel all over the world if that was what you
wanted. I'd give you everything."

I exhaled and shook my head. "Yes Peter I
do believe you'd give me the world. I know you'd give me anything money could
buy. But money doesn't buy happiness. And working makes me happy. Like it or
not, I'm going."

I grabbed my bag and put my iPad in it along
with my notepad and phone. Then I took my jacket from the closet in the hall. I
kissed Julie and held her tight.

"It's okay, Mommy. It really is." Then
she whispered in my ear. "Can't wait for Spain."

Peter followed me to the door. I turned and
looked at him. I stroked his cheek gently. He hadn't shaved since we got there.
Stubble looked great on him. His hair was getting gray on the sides.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'll
be back tonight."

Peter sighed and held on to my wrist, then kissed
it. He leaned over and kissed my lips. The warmth from his kiss made me almost
regret I was going.

"See you later," he said.